


The Weight of Silence

by MichelleDV



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichelleDV/pseuds/MichelleDV
Summary: What Dean does post the 300th episode 14x13, Lebanon. It’s angsty (obviously) and it’s Dean x Donna, but this is about Dean.
Relationships: Donna Hanscum & Dean Winchester, Donna Hanscum/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	The Weight of Silence

The silence screamed at him until he thought he’d shoot the walls if only to relish the sound–and the destruction, if he were being honest–a taunting, hollow echo pounding in his ears and reminding him of his strong heartbeat.

Unlike his father.

With that thought, he jerked out of bed–he hadn’t even changed out of his jeans and flannel–grabbed the overnight bag he kept at-the-ready, and headed down the hall.

He jotted a quick note to Sam before climbing the stairs. He took a lingering look at the room below, a space where, only hours ago, the four of them had stood together, each one enthralled by the people standing around them.

Dean’s mouth tilted up slightly at the memory. Had it _really_ happened? His mother and father, alive together, with him and Sammy as adult men, all bound by blood and hunting and a desire to wipe every evil from the face of the Earth? Instead, it’d wiped its feet on them, leaving treads and tracks and scars as deep as the Grand Canyon.

The emotion fell from his face, and he turned abruptly and left the bunker behind. Quietly fuming and equally broken, he got into the car that had been both a home and a ghost of his father and drove away.

——————————————

The drive shouldn’t have taken him as long as it did. He’d pulled over once to compose himself, the blaring music and the wind whipping in through the windows doing nothing to drown out the silence that reverberated through his brain. He’d stopped for gas, snacks, to relieve himself, and had even grabbed a meal and sat in front of the river, watching the water lap lightly at the shore, wondering what it’d feel like to be a wave instead of always and inevitably being scraped at and frayed until you started washing away.

Dusk painted the sky with crimson streaks when he arrived, a fitting canopy for Dean Winchester: red, raw, bleeding, and somehow magnificently part of the order of the world.

He parked on the street and shuffled up the walk, his tired steps betraying his exhaustion. No sleep last night and driving all day left him weary, but his eyes remained dry, his expression stoic.

He knocked once, and a few seconds later the door swung open and Donna flew towards him. He caught her in his arms and cinched them around her.

“Oh, Dean,” she murmured against his neck, one arm around his neck, her other hand gently holding the back of his head.

He knew by her tone Sam had called her, told her something bad had happened. Her welcomes usually contained more excitement, less empathy, and he felt a stab of guilt for dragging her into the mess of this life, _his_ life. Sometimes he told himself to walk away, to leave her out of the horrors. But this always stopped him…the way she comforted him, held him, listened to him, loved him.

He turned his face into her neck, planting a soft kiss there before he pulled back to look at her.

“I just couldn’t be there right now. I needed to get away.”

She gave him a small, sad smile, nodding, one hand lingering on his face. “You don’t ever need a reason to come here.”

She dropped her hand to his shoulder, then slid it down his arm to grip his hand. Without a word, she tugged him into the house and closed the door.

She secured the lock and led him to the couch, and he let her, the despondent look on his face frightening her more than any crying or anger would have.

He sat in one corner of the couch, and she plopped down next to him, leaving a little space between them but close enough to run her fingers through his hair. “Whatever you need, Dean…I’m here.”

She said it in a near-whisper, but the words finally broke the silence that had haunted him for the past 24 hours.

She didn’t expect him to be anything other than what he was–a man. Not a Winchester, not a vessel or a savior or the one to end all wars. She just wanted him to be him, and he, in turn, never felt he had to hide his emotions from her.

He finally turned to look at her, meeting her sorrowful gaze. “I just want to hold you. I just want to be away from there…from that, for a while.”

The vulnerability in his tone, the hurt scrawled into every feature of his handsome face, squeezed her heart like a noose, sending tears to her eyes for this man who’d suffered yet another blow, this one so harsh she feared to find out its source.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, knowing she meant both physically and emotionally. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and moved into his side, floating the cover around them.

He slung his around around her, holding her tightly against him, and she felt the desperation in his touch. He wanted an anchor, a mooring, to know he wouldn’t be swept away in the squall raging inside his head, his heart.

She laid her head against him, felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and prayed he’d recover from whatever haunted him. Underneath the blanket, she slid her hand into his, lacing their fingers together, her thumb rubbing a soothing back-and-forth pattern on his skin, reminding him of her presence.

“Stay with me,” she whispered again.

He kissed the crown of her head, and they sat together in the quiet, for now, the sound of their breathing the only solace they needed.

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down and wrote this immediately following the 300th (!!) episode. This is the first fic I’ve ever written in the Supernatural fandom (please be kind), and it came straight from my broken heart. I hope this does Dean some justice.


End file.
